


Hot Off The Range

by Patch



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Keith (Voltron), Bottom Shiro (Voltron), Established Keith/Shiro (Voltron), Fluff and Smut, Galra Keith (Voltron), Keith (Voltron) Has a Praise Kink, M/M, Married Sheith, Not Season/Series 08 Compliant, POV Shiro (Voltron), Porn with Feelings, Shiro (Voltron) Has a Praise Kink, Top Keith (Voltron), Top Shiro (Voltron)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-29
Updated: 2020-02-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:29:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22950247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Patch/pseuds/Patch
Summary: As he watches, Keith shifts, a leg propping itself up against one of the rungs of their little garden fence, a hand scritching behind the wolfs ears. Keith looks back off into the desert and Shiro’s breath catches and then wheezes out of him because the pose is so familiar.“Oh my god,” Shiro blurts out. “You’re my hot cowboy.”
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 31
Kudos: 205





	Hot Off The Range

**Author's Note:**

> Happy birthday to the bestest boy ever!

Shiro leans back against Keith’s legs. Steam curls up from water just shy of too hot to handle and he feels warm and light and relaxed as he lays there. Keith’s fingers continued to work through his hair, bit by bit—Shiro doesn’t have nearly as much as Keith but from the pace Keith is going at, you wouldn’t know it. At some point it seems like he stopped touching to clean and moved on to simply touching for the sake of touching and Shiro honestly wouldn’t put it past him; after all Keith’s told him many times how much he loves his hair.

Shiro’s eyes slide shut and he fingers absently at the bruises darkening his hips and his thighs under the water. Keith had gripped him tight when he’d fucked Shiro but there were no cuts or scrapes despite the claws that had sprung from his fingertips. 

Keith’s nails scritch gently at his scalp as they run through his hair again before the tip of one finger gently traces the curve of an ear. He only barely refrains from laughing. Keith loves his ears almost as much as his hair—has kissed them often enough while lying next to each other and laughed lovingly at their size. 

“You having fun there,” he asks, lulled by Keith’s gentle ministrations. 

Behind him, Keith hums. “Always,” he says before gently guiding Shiro’s head back. “Keep your eyes closed darlin’.”

A shiver runs up his spine at the pet name and obediently, he keeps his eyes shut against the warm water being pouring over his head. It probably wouldn’t have made a difference if they were open though, not with the way one of Keith’s hands was pressed gently against his forehead, shielding his eyes from the sudsy water.

Keith finishes rinsing his hair and then his hands disappear from Shiro entirely. It’s impossible for Shiro to stop the small sound of discontent that escapes him, and he hears Keith chuckle softly in response. 

The legs against his back flex as Keith rummages about and then a second later his hands are back. There’s the soft pop of a cap and then the smell of their conditioner; chamomile and aloe vera and passion flower. He resumes running his hands through Shiro’s hair, taking the time to press gentle circles against his temples, fingers running back over his scalp but firmly this time, rubbing out the tension.

Shiro sighs, blissful and toes curling as Keith’s hand’s seek out the spots that he can never quite manage to find by himself.

“God, you’re so fucking good at that.” His voice comes out half a slur and this time Keith laughs outright.

“Lucky for you,” Keith says and Shiro pries open one eye to look up at him. 

Keith smiles down at him, grin cooked and absolutely devastating. 

His face must be doing something because the faint flush to his cheeks—purple undertones, not red—has nothing to do with the heat from the water and Shiro watches as his grin softens, becoming something _adoring._

Being the sole focus of Keith’s attention feels a lot like being under the sun—warm, and almost burning. Shiro always finds himself greedy for it, like a flower turning towards the sun. Sometimes he think’s that now he’s had it, its absence would see him wilt but more than that he knows deep in the very particles that make up his being, that Keith would never leave him bereft. No. Instead Keith had promised him forever; to the edges of the universes and over and till death do them part and beyond.

A finger traces it way over an ear, ghosting around his jaw. 

“Hey,” Keith whispers.

“Hey,” Shiro echoes, and then smiles up at him. 

Both of Keith’s hands drift down until they’re cradling Shiro’s throat, thumbs pressing gently behind his ears. Shiro’s shivers lightly at the slight pressure and the heat of his hands.

“You good?” Keith asks with a knowing look in his eyes.

“Mmmhmm,” Shiro hums, sinking further into the water ever so slightly. It tugs Keith’s hands tighter around his neck for just a second before they adjust. 

Shiro _is_ good. He feels happy and safe—soft like the spot inside him where he keeps Keith and the nightmares never touch had spilled out into the air until it felt like a blanket; soft and comfortable from use. Keith’s legs flex behind him as he shifts on his spot at the edge of the tub. Shiro tilts his head back until its resting fulling against Keith’s knees and it should be uncomfortable but it isn’t. Absently he reaches back through the water to grip at one of Keith’s ankles, hand wrapping fully around the delicate bone.

He was so much bigger than Keith even now, but at times like this it didn’t feel like it. 

Keith pulls one hand away from his neck to card back through his hair. The other thumbs at his pulse point and Shiro can’t stop the way his heart skips at the sensation. 

“Eyes closed and scoot forward a little bit,” Keith says quietly. Shiro obeys without question and soon there’s the sensation of water being run over his hair again.

Once he’s done Keith gently nudges him further towards the centre of the tub before sliding down into the vacated spot. Keith sighs, hands reaching out to tug Shiro into the v of his thighs until his back is pressed fully against Keith’s chest. 

Shiro isn’t sure how long the two of them sit together like that. 

At one point Keith’s hands drift across his chest, thumbing over his nipples for just a second. They map out his collarbone and then planes of his chest before continuing their journey further south, stroking along his ribs and the cut of his abs. Long, calloused fingers dance over the V of his thighs and Shiro relaxes into the sensation even as tiny corkscrews of energy begin to sing through his body, working their way into his blood.

It’s a gentle hum compared to earlier in the night—a hearth fire compared to wildfire. It rises slowly, lapping at him like the tide as Keith’s hands expertly work his body into something molten. 

Shiro moans gently when Keith begins to stroke his cock with one hand, head tipping back against Keith’s shoulder. The other feels its way between Shiro’s legs to where he’s still open and loose and it’s not long before he’s got two fingers buried deep. Shiro’s hand grips at Keith’s knee and he turns his face into the crook of his neck, panting as Keith twists his wrist on the upstroke and presses with his two fingers. 

Keith settles into a rhythm, wringing soft sounds from deep within his chest. The warmth around him feels like molasses, thick and heavy like he could sink into it and never come up for air. 

He doesn’t speed up even when Shiro begs for it. He watches as Keith strokes over him, the water between them rippling and distorting with the movement. His hand looks so small against him, his fingers not quite meeting properly around the thickest part of Shiro’s cock.

“Baby,” he pleads. “F-fuck— _Keith._ ”

Keith doesn’t reply, just nuzzles against Shiro’s temple. It only occurs to Shiro a few seconds later that he doesn’t reply because he _can’t_. The deep rumble of a purr vibrates its way through Keith’s chest and into Shiro, like the rumble of a ship engine. It’s stolen Keith’s voice but it still speaks as to how much he’s enjoying taking Shiro apart at the seams. 

At some point Shiro winds up with a leg hiked over the edge of the tub, water sloshing with the small aborted movements of his hips. There’s a slight sting at his shoulder as Keith nips with sharp fangs, fingers twisting mercilessly within him. 

His orgasm crests slowly, almost catching him by surprise. It’s background noise to the sensation of Keith’s fangs teasings at his skin as he works on adding another bruise to Shiro’s collection, to the way Keith’s finger crook inside him just right, to the constant rumble of Keith’s chest against his back—everything is warm and soft and safe. Shiro’s hand releases its death grip on Keith’s knee, reaching back to grip at Keiths hair and pull him into a kiss. 

Despite the fangs it's a soft thing and Shiro keens helplessly against Keith’s lips as he comes, hips rocking down onto his fingers and then back up into the tight grip of his hand, unsure which sensation to chase. He feels Keith gasp against him, feels him shudder as that purr stutters and starts in his chest as he reaches his end too, pressed against Shiro. 

He drifts after that. It’s easy to lounge back against Keith, to let him take care of Shiro as he wishes. Gentle hands shift his leg off the cool porcelain and back into cooling water. There’s some shifting around that Shiro is only vaguely aware of and then Keith is stepping out of the tub. 

Shiro watches him, eyes tracing the way water drips down the plains of his chest. Strands of hair had escaped his bun at some point and were left hanging, framing his face delicately. He stands there, uncaring of Shiro’s eyes on him as he pulls a towel off their rack, naked except for his ring and the marks he’d left on his skin. Bruises line his hips to match Shiro’s own, there are nail marks on his back and he can see the indents of his own teeth in the skin of one of his thighs.

Shiro blinks some of the fuzz away. “Keith.” 

Keith hums where he’s patting himself down briskly before tossing the towel into the hamper before grabbing their largest and softest and placing it delicately onto the edge of the sink.

Shiro opens his mouth to say…something, but stalls. Maybe he just wanted to say Keith’s name. Instead his jaw cracks as he yawns.

“Okay, definitely time for bed I think.” 

Keith’s hand’s reach for him, holding his steady as his legs shake. Keith shakes out the towel and wraps it about Shiro securely before directing him to sit on the closed toilet while he goes to pull the plug. When he comes back there’s another, smaller towel in his hands and Shiro bends his head forward to press against Keith’s stomach as he sets about carefully drying his hair. 

“Hey,” comes Keith’s soft voice after a while. “Time to get up.”

Shiro groans, dramatic and feels immediate vindication when he hears Keith laugh.

A wet finger sticks itself in his ear and Shiro yelps, jerking back to look up at his husband. “Did you just—” Shiro can’t finish the sentence, just watches as Keith’s face splits into a wide shit eating grin. “Really?” Shiro says flatly.

Keith snorts, ruffling at Shiro’s hair gently. “Your ears are the body part you draw a line at having my fingers in?”

Shiro flushes and headbuts Keith’s stomach gently. “Shut up,” he grouses. 

“I’ll shut up when you get up,” Keith shoots back, tugging on the corner of Shiro’s towel. “Just think—there’s a whole bed just a few steps away.” His voice is softly cajoling.

“Oh, I would,” Shiro says, “If I thought my legs were capable of carrying me there.” He looks up at Keith. “But I think you turned them to jelly.”

“Is that your way of saying that you want me to carry you there?” His voice is gently teasing as Shiro flushes.

“Yes,” he says decisively. He hadn’t honestly considered that option but now that he had, he _wanted_ it.

He probably should’ve expected Keith to, quite literally, sweep him off his feet princess style but for some reason he hadn’t. There was a brief moment of vertigo and then there’s a strong arm supporting his shoulders and another cradling his thighs. Shiro clings to Keith mostly as an excuse to feel the way Keith’s muscles flex as he moves.

Their bedroom is dark compared to the bathroom, cool with the desert night air blowing in through the window, stirring their curtains. 

“Arm around my neck,” Keith directs softly, and once Shiro has his grip secured, the arm that had been supporting his shoulders disappears to tug back the covers. Keith kneels on their bed and lowers Shiro with far more care than he needs but he merely savours the moment. To Keith he is something precious and beloved and that regard is heavy, sweet thing—even after all these years, he’s still not quite used to it even as he longs for it. 

Shiro stretches under the dark star covered blankets, spine cracking satisfyingly. Keith slides in after him and curls himself against Shiro’s chest, a hand coming up to trace the scar over his nose. It dips down to brush across the bow of his lips and Shiro can’t stop himself from pressing a kiss against the pad of his finger.

“Hi,” Shiro whispers against the digit. 

“Hey.” Keith’s eyes glow ever so slightly in the low light and Shiro smiles at him, smitten. “Feel good?” he asks eventually, like he hadn’t turned Shiro’s spine molten at least three times throughout the night and left him feeling boneless and loose in a way he hadn’t even thought possible.

“Yeah.” Shiro noses along Keith’s temple. “‘m _so_ good.”

Keith’s grin is self satisfied and entirely earned. Shiro lets his eyes drift close, tugging Keith in closer against his side. It’s never really been an easy thing for Shiro to just stop and relax. When he’d been younger the urge to keep moving, to make sure he _meant_ something was all consuming and during the war it had become a luxury he couldn’t afford. 

But the war was over now and had been for just over two years. The universe was settling into its newly found peace and there were others ready and willing to do the work of rebuilding. He’s had time to learn, maybe for the first time, how to live and he gets to do it with his best friend by his side. 

They have a ship of their own and the freedom that brings, to come and go as they please—to finally experience the stars the way they’d both wanted to without the threat of war hanging over them. And when they get tired of ship life they have safe places they can go to ground; Altea, Daibazaal and chief amongst them, here, Keith’s childhood home rebuilt to fit the two of them and a wolf the size of a horse.

Sleep tugs at Shiro and he can hear the way Keith’s breath is beginning to soften under the cadence of sleep. 

“Kee,” Shiro murmurs. He feels the hum more than he hears it. “Love you.”

Keith nuzzles against his chest, pressing a kiss to the skin just above his heart. “Love you too.”

xXx

It’s his birthday. 

Or rather it’s the day before but this year isn’t a leap year so he’ll take what he can get. It’s a warm day, and the market is bustling with people—they move about him like a river, sweeping away his friends as he waves them off, promises to meet up in twenty still ringing through his ears. 

The stalls around him are bright and colourful and voices swell and fall with the push of bodies as people chat and bargain. The sunlight is heavy and thick, like the sky is filled with honey and the scent of something sweet drifts on the breeze and everything looks like a dream, hazy and happy. 

Eventually the push and pull of bodies gets to be too much and he ducks down one of the lesser used paths, grateful for the sudden quiet and space—it’s been a while since he’s been out amongst so many people and he’s forgotten what its like. He wanders and wanders and then finds himself standing in front of a stall he’s never seen before. 

There are a few other people around, milling about some of the stalls further down the lane but he’s the only one at this particular stall. There’s a potted cactus on the table, spines holding a few business cards in place like the world most dangerous rolodex. There’s wooden beads strung on chord and hanging from the ceiling, painted in soft greens and reds and blues and clacking gently in the wind. The gentle rustle of paper comes with it.

There’s no one manning the booth.

Curiosity has always been one of his greatest failings and his greatest assets and he feels it building within him the longer he stands there. The sound is enticing and the sheet covering the table is bright and colourful and looks like it has some kind of print on it but he can’t quite make out what it is from where he’s standing.

He edges closer. 

He notices three things in quick succession—firstly, that the cactus was cute. Up until this point Shiro has never given much thought to cacti beyond how much they’d probably hurt to get pricked by. Secondly, that the fabric was colourful and soft looking and was also covered in half naked lumberjacks. The third thing he notices is that the alluring rustling of fabric was coming from the numerous pinup calendars on display.

The calendars are hanging on their hooks to the left and on the right wall were swatches displaying bright colours and shapes and propped up against the back of the stall are rolls and rolls of fabrics. He can see cowgirls and firemen and the same lumberjacks as on the table cloth and the calendars were very much in the same vein.

17, edging on 18 year old Shiro had fluttered about for approximately 5 minutes until the the stall owner had come back and found him there. The woman had been kind and gently teasing as she watched Shiro _um_ and _ah_ over the calendars before finally picking the one that had caught his eye the most. 

Dream Shiro merely reaches out and grabs the calendar off its hook and tosses the money owed onto the table and walks off with the Cowboy Pinup calendar clutched to his chest. 

xXx

It’s not the sunrise that wakes Shiro up, or nightmares but rather how he rolls over into the spot Keith had been the night before and finds it cold. 

His eyes blink open to the soft dawn light. Instead of scrambling out of bed to look for Keith in a panic like he might have done once, he takes the time to stretch, star-fishing out across the entire bed. He lets himself lay there for a minute and then two, listening to the gentle creaks of the house and the faint clicking of the space wolf’s claws on the wooden floor. 

The faintest wisps of the dream—no the _memory_ still cling to him and it almost makes him laugh. It been so long, years and years since he’s last thought of that calendar. He’d kept it for a lot longer than the year it was good for, only getting rid of it when he finally moved in together with Adam. He couldn’t remember all of the spreads anymore, just his favourites—the one with the horse, the one set against a sunset and Octobers spread of a shirtless cowboy watching over the horizon with a working dog sitting patiently at his side. 

He takes his time getting out of bed, tugging on a pair of sweats and the softest top he had, the one that Keith steals from him regularly and only gives back when it doesn’t smell like Shiro anymore. He ignores his prosthetic where it sits charging on the bedside table. 

He wanders downstairs, toes curling against the cold floor and he’s contemplating going back for socks when a cold nose jabs itself into his stomach in greeting.

Shiro laughs and crouches, burying his hands in the wolfs ruff. 

“Hey buddy,” he says, jerking back to avoid getting a tongue to the eye. “You know where your dad is?”

The wolf huffs at him, headbuts him hard enough that it sends Shiro back onto his ass and then trots off towards the front door.

Well, he thinks wryly, that was probably an answer. Maybe. 

Instead of making to follow, Shiro wanders into their kitchen with the intent to get a cup of coffee and finds himself freezing at the mouth of it. There’s clean dishes on the drying wrack, a few bowls and a spatular. On the countertop there’s a cake in the process of cooling and the enticing smell of chocolate drifts towards him. A quick glance at the oven reveals two trays lined with rows and rows of cookies, only just beginning to brown and the timer is missing from its spot. 

Shiro rocks back on his heels and has to swallow hard against the emotion trying to crawls its way up his throat.

Keith had baked him a cake. Keith was baking him cookies. 

The previous year they’d been on a swap moon when February 28th had come around. Shiro had spent the entire time hovering behind Keith as he negotiated aggressively with an Unilu for a ship part, half worried that Keith would actually resort to murder after the alien had made one too many comments about the availability of Shiro’s arm. By the time they’d gotten what they’d needed, returned to the ship and realised what day it was it had already passed them by.

And before that—

Well. No one’s made him a cake since his parents. 

With a quiet, steadying breath Shiro heads for the front door.

It’s hanging open slightly, a crack of light bleeding through the gap and out onto their floor. He opens it, making an absent note to get some WD-40 when the hinges squeak ever so slightly.

Outside the sky is gold promising a brilliant blue at the edges. He can feel the beginnings of proper heat in the air as he steps out into the light, the wood beneath his feet already warming with the sun. 

The wolf is nowhere to be seen thought that doesn't really mean much. Keith however is standing just a few feet away, leaning against the fence post of their small desert garden. It's filled with wild flowers and interesting spikey plants and others which seems to be at the crossroads between the two. Keith was shirtless, wearing a pair of old faded and fraying jeans, feet tucked into unlaced boots and he had one hand wrapped around a mug of coffee and the other reaching out to gently stroke the petals of something a splash of vibrant red. 

Shiro’s breath catches in his chest again. 

The morning sun lit Keith’s skin with a warm glow, the play of shadows highlighting the cut of his muscles. His scars stood out in stark relief, small nicks and cuts and the large roping mark from his trials curving over one shoulder. His hair is loosely braided and wisps were already coming loose. 

He looked like a dream standing there. 

If he was given a hundred years, Shiro didn’t think he could ever come up with a more beautiful sight than Keith. The only things that came close were some of the things they’ve seen on their travels—ribbons of stars spilling out around them, supernovas, alien planets—and yet they still paled in comparison. 

He was one of a kind and somehow _Shiro_ got to be his. 

Standing at the fence, Keith yawns, the sharp points of his teeth glinting in the sun. He scratches at his chest absently, watching the desert stretching out beyond their home. He could be staring at nothing or he could be tracking the wolf—sometimes it was hard to tell and Shiro didn’t think he would ever quite get the nack of following the wolfs quintessence when he was out of sight. 

Keith’s back stiffens slightly and he shifts on the balls of his feet. There’s a flash of blue and white and then the wolf is smushing his face against Keith, panting and covered in dust. 

Keith laughs and doesn't even rock back against the push and Shiro shivers ever so slightly despite the building heat. 

“At least you avoided the garden this time,” he hears Keith say. “Would’ve been unfortunate if I had’ta spend the morning pickin’ needles outta your paws and nose again.”

His voice is rough and rounded in a way that Shiro rarely hears. As he watches Keith shifts, a leg propping itself up against one of the rungs of their little garden fence, a hand scritching behind the wolfs ears. Keith looks back off into the desert and Shiro’s breath catches and then wheezes out of him because the pose is _so_ familiar. 

“Oh my god,” Shiro blurts out. “You’re my hot cowboy.”

Shiro mistimes his revelation and Keith inhales his sip of coffee. 

“Oh fuck.” Shiro runs to Keith in bare feel while the wolf whines in concern. He gets to Keith’s side, hand hovering over his coughing form. “Oh my god, baby I'm so sorry.”

Keith waves him off with strained smile and a shaky thumbs up. “‘sall good. Just, um—” Keith stares up at him with watery eyes and a flushed face. “ _What_ did you just say?”

Shiro face flushes to match Keith’s and then keeps on going until it about the same red as the flowers in their garden. 

“Uhhh...” Shiro swallows around a suddenly dry mouth. “Nothing?”

Keiths eyes narrow. “Really,” he says flatly. “Nothing at all?”

“Nope,” Shiro says with forced brightness.

Casually, Keith balances his mug on a post and leans back agains the fence, crossing his arms. The move makes his biceps flex and highlights the lines of his chest and when Shiro manages to drag his eyes back up to Keith’s face there’s a smirk waiting there on his lips. Smug and confident is a good look on him, Shiro thinks absently. As if realising that their attention has shifted the wolf huffs out a sound and then vanishes.

“You’re looking unbearably smug fro someone who almost just choked to death on coffee,” Shiro grumbles even as he steps close to tuck a stray lock of hair behind Keith’s ear.

“To be fair,” Keith drawls, “that was entirely your fault.”

Shiro coughs and Keith’s smirk deepens.

“So,” Keith asks, hands reaching out to settle against Shiro’s waist, “Are you gonna repeat what yo—”

They both startle at the harsh ringing coming from Keith’s pocket. He reaches in and fishes out the timer.

“Saved by the bell,” Shiro jokes and Keith snorts.

“For now,” he agrees before finally closing the distance between the two of them to press a gentle kiss against Shiro’s lips. His skin was sun warmed and sweet from taste testing. “Good morning,” Keith says softly, words brushing against his lips. “Happy birthday, darlin’.”

Shiro shivers. “Morning,” he rasps, ducking back in to steal another kiss and then another. He would kiss Keith forever under the morning sun if he could. His bare toes curl against the dirt as Keith nips gently at his lip. “The cookies will burn,” he reminds Keith softly.

Keith kisses him again, soft and lingering. “Then I’ll bake you more.” He does pull away though, reluctance written into every line of his body. Then he looks down and he frowns. “You forgot your shoes,” he says mutters. A pointy finger jabs him in the ribs and Shiro yelps. “Come on, inside now.”

Shiro trails after Keith happily as they both head into the house. The smell of chocolate and sugar is thicker now, a sirens call coming from the kitchen. 

It’s pleasant to sit back and watch Keith as he pulls out the trays of cookies, setting them aside to cool and starts working on icing the cake. They don’t talk, but like this—alone, in their own space—they rarely feel the need to. The two of them have ever been more content to show their affection through actions rather than words and it extends to things like this; Keith using his hands to make something Shiro will enjoy and Shiro letting him do it. 

Here, between the two of them, the urge to get up and help is easier to quash. Letting Keith care for him is something he’d had to learn just as much as the opposite was true and today is his birthday. His first proper one in four years and his first since the war ended. Even if it's only just, Shiro can admit that this is something that he wants, today of all days.

Watching Keith work is soothing. His hands are steady as he spreads the icing around the cake with the flat of a knife. He’s methodical and just as skilled here as he is with a knife in other situations and Shiro know its partially innate talent and partially Hunk’s instructions. 

There’s a clatter as Keith scrapes out the last dollop of icing and turns brandishing the bowl and the spoon in Shiro’s direction. 

“Birthday boys get to lick spoon,” Keith says with mock seriousness.

Shiro takes it eagerly, sitting the bowl on the table for later before sticking the spoon in his mouth. He moans as chocolatey goodness bursts in his mouth. 

“Is this what I’m missing out on very year?” Shiro asks. 

Keith snorts, grinning as he turns back to the smooth the last of the icing onto the cake. “Probably,” He says absently. His tongue pokes out slightly as he carefully covers the edges. “To be fair I haven’t really done that since I was a kid.”

Shiro swallows down the feeling in his chest. “Well, this year it’ll be different,” he announces. It would be even if he had to kill someone to achieve it. Keith deserved good things too, especially a homemade cake on his birthday and the chance to lick the icing from the spoon. “I wonder if the Galra have cakes,” he muses out loud. If they did then maybe he could talk to Krolia and they could both work out something for Keith; he thinks she’d like that.

“Apparently they do,” Keith says, turning to wash the knife in the sink. “Mum mentioned it when my birthday happened in the quantum abyss; unfortunately though there’s no cake ingredients on space whales.”

“Fair point,” Shiro says. 

Keith dries the knife and puts it back in the block. “But hey, I got that dog I always wanted.”

“You always wanted a dog?” Shiro doesn’t feel really surprised by that bit of knowledge but somehow, in all their time together it had never come up.

Keith hums. “Dad’s station used to have a dog; like a mascot almost? Huge thing—she was a mutt, no one ever actually knew what she was when you asked but I loved her. Always wanted one like her growing up.” Keith pauses. “Or any animal really. They were all easier than people.”

Shiro gets that. “And now you have a space wolf.”

“ _We_ have a space wolf,” Keith corrects. “But yeah.” He pauses, head cocking to the side. “Did you ever want a dog? Or a pet in general?”

Shiro has to pause to think, spoon half in and half out of his mouth. “I don’t think I ever really thought about it too hard,” he admits after a second. “My parents weren’t big on animals and there were other things to worry about. And then after they were gone, I don’t think my grandfather was able to keep up with me _and_ a pet.”

“But what did _you_ want?” 

Shiro looks up and Keith’s eyes are on him, dark and watchful. There’s nothing pushy about the tone or the way he looks; he’s just asking a question and letting Shiro choose whether or not he wishes to answer. 

Shiro thinks about the question. 

He’d been right when he’d said he’d never really thought about it. Between his illness, the loss of his parents and then his fight towards the stars, the thought of having a pet hadn’t really come up—or if it had then it certainly hadn’t had time to solidify into something concrete enough to chase after.

Still.

“Sometime I think I thought about having a cat,” Shiro says after a while. “When things got bad, or I got lonely.” Keith hums, understanding. “Never really thought about a dog though.”

Keith laughs. “And now you have a space wolf,” he says in an echo.

Shiro smiles softly. “And now _we_ have a space wolf.”

Keith plucks the spoon out of his hand, puts it in the bowl and then slides into his lap. “Maybe one day we can try to find a space cat,” he muses.

“A space cat,” Shiro repeats sceptically. “You mean other than you?”

Keith glares at him half heartedly and then blows a raspberry into the side of Shiro neck, holding on and snickering to himself as Shiro flails in response. “I mean it,” he says once they settle down. “Or even just a normal cat. I don't see why we couldn’t as long as it gets along with the wolf.”

“You think we could find a teleporting cat out there somewhere?” Shiro wonders, amused.

“I think that’s just a normal cat,” Keith points out before darting forward to press a kiss to the bridge of Shiro’s nose. “I stayed with an old woman who had a cat once; it used to appear outta nowhere sometimes, even if I closed the door.” Keith pauses and then adds quietly, “That place was nice.”

Shiro presses his own kiss to Keith’s cheek. “Maybe we should just get all the animals,” he mutters against Keith’s skin. “Make ourselves a farm.”

He feels Keith’s chest rumble with silent laughter. “A farm? I thought that was more of Lance and Allura’s deal?”

“I don’t see why it couldn’t be both,” Shiro offers, grinning. “But we can have all space animals. Space wolf, space cat; I don’t know, some space goats maybe?”

“How about a space horse?” Keith says slyly.

Shiro chuckles, suddenly nervous. “Why a horse?”

Keith hums but this time it's almost a purr. “Well you could ride it around. Or,” he says, “ _I_ could ride it around and you could watch me. I’m pretty good at it.”

Shiro’s brain short circuits. “You can ride a horse,” he says slowly. He blinks. “Keith, why can you ride a horse?”

“Dad taught me,” he says brightly. “It’s fun, I think you’d enjoy it if you gave it a go. It like hover-bike riding but bumpier.”

Shiro thinks he makes a noise but whatever it is, it’s strangled. The mental image from earlier comes flashing back but this time it’s a different month and a different pose and this time it’s Keith sitting astride a horse, shirtless and with a cowboy hat resting on his head. 

A finger pokes at him. “Shiro. What did you say earlier?”

Shiro can’t see Keith’s face but he can hear the grin in his voice. 

Shiro takes a deep breath. “I said,” he gets out, “that—that you’re my hot cowboy.” His voice is sheepish by the time he finishes, face red again. He can feel Keith still against him.

“Keith?” 

A hand cards itself through his hair. “Yeah, thats what I thought you said.” Keith pulls back just enough to look Shiro in the face. His eyes are dark, grin just edging this side of wicked and Shiro feels another shiver race its way up his spine. “You wanna watch me ride darlin’?” 

His voice come out a drawl, purposeful this time in the way he rounds out the sounds. It ever so slightly more performative than the way he sounds when he’s just woken or slightly drunk or in that soft space where his edges smooth out under Shiro’s hands, but it makes his breath catch in his chest all the same. 

“ _Yes_ ,” Shiro rasps out. 

Keith shifts on his lap and then leans down to nose against his cheek before kissing him. 

He doesn’t pull back until they’re gasping. 

“Good,” he whispers. “Come on up with me darlin’, the cake can wait.”

xXx

Shiro falls onto their bed, Keith chasing after. 

He lets him press him against the bed, doesn’t try to shift or break away as Keith sits himself astride his hips. Shiro stares up at him, breath catching in his throat. There’s a flush on both Keith’s cheeks and dusting his chest and his eyes have gone cat-like and are fixed on Shiro. 

“Keith,” he says softly. 

Keith chest rumbles, inquisitive. 

Shiro shakes his head slightly, smiling. “Keith,” he says again. His name feels right in his mouth, vowels and consonants dripping from his mouth like he was made to say it. 

Above him, Keith smiles. “Shiro,” he whispers and it sounds just as right, his name coming from Keith’s mouth. 

Shiro shifts slightly under him, chin tilting up in a silent plea, one that Keith answers in a rush. He kisses Shiro again and again, nipping at his lips only to soothe away the sting with his tongue. Shiro’s hand grasps at Keith’s hip, thumb rubbing circles into the skin, tracing the curve of the bone. 

Keith doesn't pull away until they’re both gasping and Shiro can feel a keen building in his chest, the need to have Keith closer building in his chest like a flame stoked to blazing. 

“Keith,” he begs. “Please—I need— _please_.”

Keith purrs, soothing and reaches for the bedside table. He can hear him rummaging around but is distracted when Keith bends to press their lips together. They kiss until their lips are swollen and somewhere in the mix of it all he misses the sound of a cap popping and only notices when he feels Keith shudder against him. 

His eyes snap open as Keith pulls away slightly, just enough that he can see Keith’s face as he opens himself up. It doesn’t take long after the previous night or maybe they’re both just impatient but soon enough Keith is slicking him up with the leftover lube and sinking down onto cock. It's a slow and steady glide and Shiro’s hand clamps itself down on Keith hip.

“God,” Shiro groans. “ _F-fuck_ , you feel so good Keith, _always_ , always feel so good baby.” Praise spills from his lips as he hilts himself inside him properly and Keith blinks down at him dazedly. 

They stay still like that for seconds that stretch into a minute, the urgency from before sated for the time being. It’s okay, it’s more than okay being like this, caught under Keith and inside him. It leaves him feeling breathless, this ache in his chest, a desire that he doesn’t know how to put into words—how he wants to stay like this always, as one. It’s a feeling that’s always there, humming away under his skin; once upon a time their souls had touched and they _remember_ that. 

“You’re so good,” he breathes up at Keith because it's true.

Above him, Keith shudders slightly and something within Shiro thrills at the sight. Keith’s finger thread themselves through his hair and then grip, before softening to cradle his face as he leans down to kiss him. He shifts in Shiro’s lap and he moans softly against his mouth and it’s good—its so good but it always is with Keith whether its like this or Keith seating himself inside him instead. 

Keith breaks their kiss, panting. “You good?” he asks him, an echo of the night before. 

Shiro nods, eager. “Yes, I’m good I’m—I’m happy, Keith.” He runs his hand up his side, fingers sounding over his ribs before settling back at his hip. “ _So_ good, baby.”

“Good, that’s good,” Keith says quietly, hands moving down to splay over Shiro’s pecs. “I always want you to feel good.” 

There’s something gentle in his face when he looks down at him, a look that’s only ever for Shiro. It lingers around the corners of his mouth and in the line of his eyes, soft and fond even as the look turns into something more sly.

He lifts himself up, achingly slow and then slams himself back down and Shiro moans, long and loud. He does it again and again and then stills, pressing down hard when Shiro squirms beneath him.

Keith looks down at him, hair almost loose from it braid and quirks an eyebrow. “Well,” he says in a rasp. “Giddy up.” 

Shiro stares up at him, mouth open before a laugh spills from his chest, loud and wild. Keith pouts down at him before his expression cracks and he laughs too. They shake together until they slow to a stop. Shakily, Shiro forces his legs to move, pressing his feet flat against the mattress, knees bending up behind Keith’s back. Keith stares down at him looking like a vision, wild and beautiful, chest still heaving as light giggles wrack his frame.

Carefully, testing, Shiro rolls his hips up into Keith. 

Keith breathes in sharp, hips snapping down hard against Shiro’s movement and Shiro gasps. 

“Come on darlin’,” Keith says, breath hitching. “More.”

Shiro’s hips snap up, harder and harder, setting a brutal pace. Keith meets him, riding him with expert twists of his hips, hands clenching in time with their movements on Shiro’s chest. The tip of a claw runs itself over a nipple and Shiro’s pace stutters for a second and Keith purrs in a deep rumble, like thunder. 

“Good boy,” Keith gasps out, body going taut as Shiro adjusts his angle slightly. “Good boy, you’re—you’re so _good_.”

The praise pulls a deep guttural moan from Shiro’s chest and Keith keens as Shiro’s hip snap up harder still. It’s easy to get lost in the push and pull, to lose himself in Keith’s body like he always wants to. There’s a sense of safety almost, being caught here under Keith and bringing him pleasure. He’s tight and warm and wet around Shiro, he opens to him so beautifully—Shiro lets go of Keith’s hip to press his hand against his chest and he can feel Keith’s heartbeat, galloping along under his skin.

“Keith,” he cries.

Keith shushes him, rolling his hips in a slow grind. “When you want to come, come.” Keith moans, clenching tight around him. “No need to wait, darlin’.”

Shiro moans weakly, hips stuttering against Keith for a second. They rock together like that and then Keith shifts just so and Shiro’s head falls back, breath catching in his chest as he comes, shuddering hard as he empties himself into Keith. Above him he can feel Keith shiver at the sensation, can hear him curse softly as continues to rock his hips into him, cock twitching inside him. 

Afterwards he has just enough presence of mind to reach up a clumsy hand and wrap it around Keith’s cock. It’s dripping and it only takes a few strokes before Keith is shuddering over him, coming with a soft cry over Shiro’s stomach and chest.

Keith collapses against him, and they rest there together, hearts gradually slowing and Shiro softening inside Keith. He doesn’t bother pulling out, doesn’t really want to—instead he pulls Keith against him tighter and Keith merely sighs, happy, and settles more firmly against him.

Shiro’s thumb is back to stroking against Keith’s hip when Keith snickers lightly against him.

“What?” Shiro asks, fuzzily.

Keith laughs again, pressing a kiss against Shiro’s chest, just over his heart and then looks up at him, hair spilling about his face, looking happy and sated. He grins. 

“Yeehaw.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come yell at me about Sheith on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/PatchOfFeathers)


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